As I was typing the title, I wondered if publication magically transforms a manuscript into a book. In any event, a recent NewYorker column pointed out that author Mary Patrick Kavanaugh, after 16 rejections decided to hold a funeral for her “dream of a writing career.”
On Saturday, a California woman whose autobiographical novel was rejected by sixteen publishers hosted a funeral for her dream of a writing career, at which "attendees viewed the failed manuscript, rejection letters, refinance papers, useless MFA in creative writing, and the author’s much watched DVD copy of "The Secret.’"
Her hopes of a writing career appear to rest on the success of her self publishing effort. I think there’s an inherent conflict between her “my dream is dead” and the fact that she is still publishing, but insert your own phoenix/ashes saying here.